


Inhuman

by Peppermint_Tea_Cat



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Body Horror, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peppermint_Tea_Cat/pseuds/Peppermint_Tea_Cat
Summary: Raised to become her father's successor, Ivy Bradley often deliberates her identity and potential role in or against Amestrian military expansion. From a young age, she noticed brutal invasions and unfair and broken treaties under her father's command, and a single set of options was clear for years. Her own desires have long since been drowned out by her struggle to burn brighter than her family's shadow (pun intended), until a morally-questionable opportunity presents itself. Although the story's core themes ponder conflicting political theories, violence, and the nature of humanity, my core purpose purpose is to leave readers and myself feeling empowered and optimistic in the end.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Trolley Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this story is just a thing I do for fun, and if you're reading it, great! Thank you for taking your time to do so, I appreciate you. Inhuman has evolved into its current form over several years of rewrites, random out of context scenes that I write or daydream or play in my head while listening to songs, and late-night brainstorm sessions with my sister. I've decided to put my amalgamation of ideas online once again, for better or for worse. Yes, I did say "again," because I had published my previous version on this same AO3 account a year or so ago, then realized that I had developed as a writer, and decided to re-write the story. Soooo here we are. I have fun writing this, and if just one other person gets a kick out of it, that would be pretty neat. It's cool if it's not your cup of tea, though, I understand.

The rain’s muffled patter sent an exhilarating chill through Ivy’s body. Her pulse had skyrocketed ever since she entered the Colonel’s office. The room actually had a window. She could see the sky, a pewter so somber it could only have been early morning.

Forcing her eyes from the window, she analyzed the regulation blue-clad figure pouring two cups of tea in the corner of his office. He didn’t so much as glance at the window as he strode over to Ivy to offer her a mug. She cupped it in both hands and felt the warm steam against her face. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling for a couple of seconds. The Colonel circled around to his desk, leaned back in his seat, and watched his guest sneak longing glances at the window with distaste.

“If I were consulted on this plan, you would still be rotting in your cell,” the twentysomething man said, weariness as apparent in his tone as it was in his gaze. He took an obligatory sip of tea, then set the cup down behind a nameplate that read “Colonel Roy Mustang.” Like the horse, Ivy mused, without being terribly aware of the thought.

She forced a smile that didn’t look forced. “I would appreciate it if you told me why I’m above ground.”

The corners of Colonel Mustang’s mouth twitched in annoyance as Ivy spoke. She took his disdain as a sign that she was headed in the right direction.

Mustang took a deep breath, then exhaled. “As far as the public knows, you no longer exist. You’re now a harmless herpetologist named Cayenne Zakuro. We’ll go over the details of your new identity in a minute. For now-“

Ivy had chosen this particular moment to take a swig of tea, hereafter regretting that decision. An acrid taste overwhelmed her, sour like the curdled milk in the Tuesday and Thursday prison stew. She held up a finger to pause the Colonel as she coughed and unsuccessfully tried not to splatter tea down the front of her threadbare grey uniform.

The Colonel pretended to rearrange the picture frames on his desk while he waited for Ivy to catch her breath.

“Go on,” She pressed him, still recovering. Pouring vinegar in a drink and offering it to a junior colleague was a popular hazing technique among the Amestrian army.

“Right then. You’re going to track this man down and bring him back to…” Mustang trailed off in mild shock as he watched Ivy down the rest of the repulsive tea in a single swig. She gestured for him to continue. “Bring him back to us,” he rose from his desk chair once again to retrieve a manila folder from a shelf.

Ivy scanned the photographs in the folder, most of which depicted crumpled bodies that seemed to have collapsed from the inside, staring upward with vacant, bloodshot eyes. Her eyebrows drew together. She recognized most of the victims as state alchemists. One of the last victim photos hit her with a wave of nausea. Her hand reached for the small black pendant she wore, feeling its smooth crystalline surface for comfort. In spite of the fear sweat already trickling down her back, she made sure to keep her composure.

Focus on the rain, she told herself. Ivy attempted to process the pile of waterlogged blood and fur, somewhat canine, but not quite. A poorly-made chimera, torn apart from the inside like the other victims. Ivy glanced up at the Colonel in a moment of uncertainty.

Mustang nodded.

Ivy clenched and unclenched her jaw, then turned to the final few photos. These were haphazard shots of an imposing, grim-looking man with skin a slightly darker brown than Ivy’s own, a large X-shaped scar disfiguring the top half of his face. In some of the photos, she was able to make out a geometric tattoo covering most of his right arm.

“The pattern seemed clear until the end. Why the chimera?”

The Colonel shrugged. “We’ll find out once he’s in our custody. We’ve been calling him Scar, and he’s never corrected us. A survivor of the Ishballan Civil War out for vengeance. After looking at his file, I’m certain that even you can conclude that he is a dangerous, unstable individual, a menace to the public.”

Ivy crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. The feelings of queasiness and fatigue began to ebb from her body. Some of the tension faded out of her voice. “A menace to the public order, mostly,” she scoffed, noticing that Colonel Mustang had stopped his absent-minded pen clicking, a tenseness drawing his brows together. His discomfort emboldened her to continue. “I get it. This person already embarrassed you guys enough. You’re desperate to get rid of him quietly, so you desperately need someone who’s already shown an ability to operate efficiently under the radar, someone expendable. That’s where I supposedly come in, right?”

She rose from her chair to stretch, reaching her bound hands above her head. Mustang flinched, his hand on his holster. His reaction gave Ivy some satisfaction.

“Relax, man. You can’t malnourish someone and keep her in a dark little box for five years, then expect her to do your bidding on a moment’s notice without stretching first. I’ll get your guy.”

“You will. Unless you don’t want your freedom, that is.”

Her freedom. A warm feeling of dizziness spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes, so intoxicating that the room spun a little around her. Ivy tried to ground herself once again with the surrounding rainstorm, but the rolling thunder enveloped her completely. She could almost feel the cool raindrops against her skin, soaking her threadbare uniform. How she missed the fresh scent of rain, a smell that Ivy could only describe as ‘alive '.

The stale but sharp indoor air brought her back to her senses. Almost wouldn’t cut it.

*

Outside the Colonel’s small office window, the sky splattered down onto the concrete cityscape. It flowed downhill, sloshing underneath car tires and shoes, carrying built-up pollution underground through storage drains. Great ceramic pipes swallowed Central City’s wastewater, plunging it deep into its black underbelly.

Scar appreciated the gurgling rush of rainwater as it soaked his feet. It disguised the soft but excited chatter of six Ishballan political prisoners finally allowed to speak their minds. He strained to catch snippets of their conversations, but didn’t consider himself competent enough to keep up with the bright professors and deviant activists. They discussed when or whether war was ever necessary, then whether violence in general was truly avoidable.

“Human nature this and human nature that,” Someone laughed over the sound of running water, “People need to own up to their mistakes and try to fix them before framing them as unavoidable.”

Someone shushed her and gestured to the imposing vengeance killer guiding them through the wastewater tunnels. Scar averted his eyes and clenched his jaw. Just as he thought the group would stay silent for the rest of the walk, a philosopher brought up Ivy Bradley’s latest essay on violent revolutions, and the spirited debate quickly returned.

He glanced back at the group, holding a lantern to illuminate their faces in the gloomy sewer tunnel. Scar tried to read their expressions as they stared back. He had never been good at reading people.

“We’ve been walking down here a while. Anyone need a rest?” Of the six people Scar was escorting, most of them were over fifty and weakened by their stay in Amestris’s notorious underground prisons. The rain-swollen current brushing past Scar’s lower calves reached the others’ knees.

A few people muttered amongst themselves, keeping their voices out of Scar’s earshot. He let them talk, pausing to check on the cat in his jacket. Pebble’s fur rose and fell in a gentle rhythm. The bandages on the front half of his fuzzy grey body still looked clean and neat. Looking at the sleeping cat in his arms, the rage, guilt, and confusion that constantly roared through his mind softened to a gentle background trickle.

Scar looked back up at the group, making eye contact with an Ishballan woman in upper middle age. He tried to hide his surprise as her face lit up into a soft smile.

“We are all grateful for your help so far. How much longer until we reach somewhere drier?” She asked.

“At least another hour’s walk.”

A wave of unease and exhaustion washed over the group, so strong that even Scar could sense it. He was about to offer to carry a couple of people when his insides started to crawl, revolting against his body. The comforting rushing water mutated in his head, growing louder and more irregular, until he could have sworn he heard a dreadful deep voice sloshing unintelligible yet menacing words into his ear. The others clutched their stomachs and glanced around with confused terror, looking exactly how Scar felt.

He motioned for the group to cluster together, fighting to form coherent thoughts.

“Keep moving,” he muttered over the hammering of his own heart, “We’re not safe here.”

Scar had experienced this sickly apprehension a few times before. Ripples of anxiety and wrongness bled from fissures in reality under an alchemist’s tattooed palms, from behind the eyes of a dog that wasn’t a dog anymore. They weren’t alone in the darkness.

*

Ivy recoiled as the sun assaulted her eyes. She had spent the last five years dreaming about jogs through sunny fields and enduring nightmares about desert explosions, but never in her dreams was the sun this violently bright. She breathed in while waiting for her eyes to adjust to the outside world, following the sound of the Colonel’s voice and the footsteps of their soldier entourage. A chill autumn breeze carried the scent of fresh rain and a nearby garden’s jasmine flowers.

Her face broke into a stupid grin.

Colonel Mustang cleared his throat. “You didn’t listen to a word I just said, did you?”

“Nope,” Tears still dripping from her stinging eyes, Ivy surveyed the glistening asphalt streets and smog-stained brick buildings around her. She held back a squeal of delight at the sight of a chubby tortoiseshell cat resting on a doorstep.

The Colonel pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you had listened, you would have found out that we don’t trust you, and we’re taking the proper precautions to make sure you don’t screw us over.”

Ivy crossed her arms against the chilly morning wind and nodded. She wished she had time to braid her hair. She’d rather not keep brushing her wild mess of ink-black curls away from her face. “Figured. I’ll tune in once you start talking about something I don’t already know. Bleh,” She pulled a few strands of hair out of her mouth.

Their path made a sudden sharp turn onto a smaller side street. Ivy’s target had blown the concrete center completely apart, revealing a gaping hole into the sewer system. She listened to the running water below with falling spirits. Of course her job was underground. And wet.

She swallowed and leaned against a lamp post, which was still slick with morning dew. “So you’ll let me go as soon as I bring you the guy?”

Her heart sank even more as she noticed the Colonel’s face break into a cocky half-smile. Of course there was a catch. Why did she allow herself false hope, even for a couple minutes?

“If you do exactly what we say, we’ll clear you of all charges. Come back to us once you’ve completed your mission.”

Realization hit Ivy as her eyes followed a flock of jewel-toned dragons soaring miles above the city. Sour milk or vinegar didn’t spoil the tea. She mentally kicked herself for not having paid attention to the Colonel while he prepared it. Not wanting Mustang to see her falter, Ivy pretended to know what was going on.

“Because you poisoned me,” she suggested in a faux-casual tone, “Something that’ll kill me after a specific amount of time, and you have the only antidote,” she inspected her brittle nails. “Neat idea.”

The Colonel’s smirk widened, his cold dark eyes sparkling with pride. “I know. If you weren’t so desperate to prove yourself, my trick might not have worked. I have your father to thank for that advice.”

His words sliced into Ivy’s consciousness. She froze for a second before the pain hit. Inexplicable fury flickered through Ivy’s chest, spreading out to the rest of her body with a dull red hum. The memory of her father’s emotionless ocean green eye observing her every move sharpened the chilly autumn breeze. Stark black shadows along the pavement curled toward her. She snarled, aware that she was revealing a set of teeth a touch sharper than a minute before. Most of the surrounding soldiers’ hands grasped for their weapons.

Mustang stood perfectly still in front of her. If he was put off by the way the air started to shimmer around Ivy’s hands, he hid it well. He even appeared to be enjoying the criminal’s reaction.

Ivy stalked toward the giant hole in the ground, unable to break the loop of thoughts and images that dulled the world around her. Be present, she tried to rise above the fear and anger, focus on your mission.

“Happy hunting!” Mustang called as Ivy leapt into the darkness.

She showed him a certain hand gesture on the way down, feeling smug until she underestimated the amount and velocity of water at the bottom. Her knees buckled, making her flounder backward and land on her butt. Unprepared for the shock of the cold dirty water, Ivy let out a startled screech and scrambled to a shallower area.

The only sound louder than the deluge of sewer water was the Colonel’s barking laugh, promptly joined by his entourage. Holding back a mortified string of curses, Ivy gave her audience a deep mock bow before stalking out of the light.

*


	2. The Trolley Problem (Part 2)

*

Attempting to evade the nauseating underground presence, Scar and the convicts soon discovered, was as pointless as it was compelling. No matter how fast they walked or where they turned, the crawling feeling grew stronger until a couple of people doubled over and couldn’t carry on.

Something sloshed through the water up ahead. Electric blue sparks automatically flew from Scar’s arm, fizzling out as the shape moved into the lantern light. A colony of twentyish rats swam past the travelers, the whites of their bulging eyes visible in their panic. Pebble, now awake, ignored the rats and started to shiver under his jacket.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered his charges. He pulled out the terrified kitten and handed her to the person closest to him. Pebble meowed, not her normal squeak of discomfort, but a loud, low warning yowl.

The woman gave the cat a kiss on the head, her red eyes meeting Scar’s. Tears glistened behind her half-moon glasses. “If I don’t make it out of this, could you avenge my daughter for me? I lost her to Amestris.”

Scar felt his chest tighten. He nodded.

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny drawstring bag, placing it into his hand. As much as he wanted to ask the woman about her daughter or the strangely warm, heavy contents of the bag, the ever-growing sense of dread reminded him to focus on the tunnel ahead. He pocketed the bag.

Scar usually found peace in the sound of running water. Now, the constant rushing and babbling was driving him insane. He almost wished something would appear already, something tangible to fight. Anything would be better than this mounting dread--

Two points of red burned into the darkness a few yards away. A voice, high and synthetic-sounding, squealed with glee. “Finally, I’m starving!”

“Run!” Scar growled, his arm crackling in anticipation, “I’ll hold it off,” he almost wished the water was a little higher to hide his shaking legs.

The Thing that sounded almost human waddled closer, revealing a lumpy silhouette significantly shorter than Scar, but easily three times as wide. A leering grin squeezed the tiny red eyes.

“They’re finally letting me eat you!” it shrieked in the fragmented sounds of the Amestrian language, clapping its impossibly large hands together.

Scar held his arm up to display his glowing destruction tattoo. “Stay back,” he warned in the rudimentary Amestrian he knew, wondering why he was even bothering with such a futile attempt at disengagement.

Before he was able to comprehend what was happening, the creature lunged at him with speed that should have been physically impossible. He barely dodged, jumping to one side and attempting to collapse part of the wall with his arm. The creature knocked him into the middle of the stream. He heard a crack as he landed on his leg.

He struggled to stand up, leaning on the one leg he could move. Wiping blood from his lower lip, Scar risked a second to glance back at the political prisoners. The group was now several yards back, wading downstream as quickly as their fatigued legs would allow them. Checking was a mistake.

The monster rushed at Scar again. This time, as he pushed himself out of its path with one leg, Scar managed to grab a handful of the monster’s oddly soft flesh with his destruction arm. It howled and backed away, collapsing into a bloody mound. It may have been a mutilated laboratory monster, but its anatomical structure was similar to a human’s. Lucky guess.

The water began to drag the blob toward the escaped convicts. They backed against a wall in disgust, but Scar heaved a shaky sigh of relief and limped toward the wall so he could inspect his leg. Before he could tell if it was broken, shrieks from the group snapped his focus downstream, back at the dark mass of dismembered flesh.

It moved. It pulsated and writhed, re-forming into its original shape.

Scar lurched forward in desperation, making a white hot pain shoot from his leg. Panic paralyzed him even further. That was no chimera. What creature could re-form the severed tissues of its vital organs after death?

“Hey!” he yelled. That Thing was too close to Pebble. Right, the prisoners, he corrected himself, them, too. “‘S me you want, right?” He switched back to his first language, “Everyone, take the left tunnel and keep going until you find the trapdoor!”

“You’re a bad man, that hurt,” the creature whined. It rose to its two fully-functioning feet. Its offended eyes were trained on Scar.

Thank Ishballa, he thought as it walked toward him at a leisurely pace.

Scar accepted death, waiting for it to come swiftly. The monster, however, had other plans.

It dodged Scar’s arm and grabbed his broken leg, throwing him into the air. He hit the ceiling, his chest taking the brunt of the force, before splashing back into the water. Everything went black for a moment. Scar tried to breathe as he came to, but each time he gasped for air, something pierced him in the chest. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it.

The monster was once again ambling toward Scar. Those two beady red eyes would be the last thing he would see in this life. He gritted his teeth. Red was the color of his people, of home and family and love and safety. What was this Amestrian creation doing appropriating his country’s color, the country Amestris wiped off the map? In one last fit of rage, Scar slammed his hand against the floor, yelling what he deemed to be an obscenity. If he was going down, it sure as heck was going down with him.

His battle cry escaped as a whimper while the ground splintered below him. Cracks formed along the wall. The creature rushed forward, biting into Scar’s torso as chunks of stone fell around them. He closed his eyes.

“Gaaa?” The creature’s grip on Scar loosened as it cried out. He flopped into the water. Warm amber light flickered somewhere above. The monster stumbled backwards.

A pair of small warm arms scooped Scar up and darted downstream, dodging falling stones with ease. He found himself propped up against a wall a little ways upstream from the collapsed part of the tunnel.

He opened his eyes. A young woman in a bright green frog poncho kneeled in front of him, holding a lantern in one hand and fumbling through a pocket with the other. She squinted at the rubble in front of them, then chuckled and shook her head.

“Whoa, that was close, man,” She pulled a flask out of a pocket and put it up to Scar’s lips. “Drink this.”

The liquid from Frog Girl’s flask was so minty it hurt, but as soon as Scar swallowed, it gave his brain a caffeine-like burst of activity. Why was this woman wandering around somewhere so dangerous by herself? He became hyper-aware of the way her eyes almost seemed to glow as she scanned the darkness, or the grey prison uniform almost hidden by her poncho, but his battle fatigue left him unable to process anything.

Whoa, that was close, man, played in his head on repeat. He had to say something to her. What was it? “Run!” he gasped, still barely able to breathe, “It… it only wants me.”

Frog Girl rolled her eyes. “Oh, quit it,” she spat, her tone sharpening abruptly, “Think before you sacrifice yourself, edgelord. Besides, I think we’re safe now.”

A furious wail pierced the darkness.

“Nevermind!” She chirped, jumping to her feet. “Wait here, I’ve got this!”

He wanted to tell the woman to leave him, that if he couldn’t beat this creature, no one human stood a chance against it. Instead, unable to say anything else and barely able to breathe, Scar watched the woman sprint to her demise, taunting the monster into the open. Now both of them would die in the tunnel, and that thing would devour their bodies.

A flurry of movement that Scar couldn’t follow, and the thing’s elbow slammed into the woman’s stomach, sending her flying to the side of the tunnel. She seemed to ricochet off the wall, her leg poised for a kick. It connected with the creature’s temple, and Scar winced at the wet, muffled crackle. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman’s nonstop movements. Her fighting style seemed too flashy and acrobatic to be of any value outside combat sports tournaments, but it was proving to be mercilessly effective.

His vision blurred. In the dim light, it was difficult to make out the two figures darting around each other. Scar prided himself on having quick reflexes. Despite its shape and size, the bulky creature had easily outmaneuvered him. The young woman was a small spot of bright green flying around this creature the way a hummingbird flies around most non-hummingbird objects. Where did she learn to fight like that?

A fluid series of aerial kicks targeted its face, and as it grabbed for her, Frog Girl propelled herself over its arm. She used the momentum to sweep around and destroy its kidney. It whirled backwards, foaming at the mouth with fury.

A sharp thud sent the woman skidding into the water next to Scar. She glanced at him for a split second with a maniacal grin on her face, blood trickling out of her crooked smile.

“I’ve gotten a little rusty,” she observed, stretching her left arm. “Nothing a better training routine and real food won’t fix.”

The monster began to charge toward Scar and Frog Girl. She continued in a cheerful tone, “I have an idea to get this guy off our tail. We stay where we are. On three, activate your arm.”

“One.” As the monster barreled forward, Scar felt the blood loss starting to take its toll.

“Two.” The air around the fighter’s hands started to shimmer like mirages over sand dunes. A soft hissing and crackling filled the air, and something smelled faintly of wood smoke and burning rubber. Blue light illuminated the woman’s concentrated scowl as Scar activated his tattoo.

“Three.” The creature lunged at them with its wide mouth. Bright white light filled the tunnel as Scar and the woman struck the monster head on. Then, darkness.

***


End file.
